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‘I massively underestimated everything that my parents did for me when I was little,’ Joe’s saying as the chain gets longer.
‘Totally,’ I agree. ‘I’ll be happy if I never see a cheese sandwich again. Did I tell you that Celeste messaged and said Oscar can only eat organic wholemeal sourdough, that burrata is preferable to mozzarella and no hotdogs unless they’re Cumberland not frankfurters.’
Joe chuckles. ‘That woman is something else.’
‘Wait, how could I forget, also genoise sponge not plain!’
Joe is laughing and his eyes twinkle. ‘Thanks for dealing with all that, Sophie.’
‘It’s no problem. Thanks for sorting out the bouncy castle.’
‘No, look, Sophie, really. Thanks.’ And he reaches over and hugs me. It’s just a friendly hug, the kind that feels almost purposefully platonic, and I can sense that Joe seems serious for a reason I can’t put my finger on. Nevertheless, we stay there for a second longer than is necessary.
‘Cookie and Gramps are here!’ Sid suddenly calls, racing back inside as Joe’s mum and dad walk in with trays of freshly baked birthday one-eyed monster and alicorn biscuits – the party’s much deliberated theme.
Joe pulls back and smiles down at me. ‘And thanks for helping Denise establish this amazing cookie business. She’s so excited. I’m glad I met you.’
He’s glad he met me?
‘Joe, why are you talking like one of us is dying?’ I blurt out. This all sounds so final he’s got me worried. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ He gives me a reassuring look, but for some reason I don’t feel fully convinced.
‘Can we eat one?’ asks Lila, greedily eyeing up the cookies.
‘Just one,’ says Denise, winking. ‘And look at you, birthday girl, don’t you look fantastic!’
In the end Lila opted to wear spotty pink leggings, an old moth-eaten Fido Dido T-shirt that I had when I was little and some butterfly wings. It’s quite the look.
‘The hall looks fantastic already!’ Denise continues. ‘Now Jim’s brought his step-ladder, are we putting bunting up?’
There are quite a few kids already there when Celeste arrives with Oscar, Otto and a man who looks like he’s off to shoot pheasants. She calls Joe and I over with a ‘cooey’ so I abandon my duties as temporary tattoo chief and head over to the main entrance.
‘Thanks so much for having us,’ she says, flashing a mouth full of pristine white veneers. ‘This is Jared, our head gardener. He has our gifts for Lila and Sidney in his truck in the car park.’
‘Oh right, lovely. Thanks, Celeste, and hi, Jared, you’re very welcome to stay. We have coffees and cakes for the grown-ups.’
‘Oh no,’ Celeste replies on his behalf. ‘He’s just come to talk you through the gifts. Sidney! Lila!’ she booms, beckoning our kids over. ‘Come outside to see your pressies.’
The thrill of having a truck outside with the promise of gifts entices the children over and soon enough we’re stood in the hall car park while Jared unlocks the back of his pick-up. Two saplings tied with a bow stand in the back.
Sidney picks his nose.
Lila gets in for a closer look. ‘Is it a flower?’
‘Close,’ says Jared. ‘It’s a baby cherry tree.’
‘For me?’
‘There’s one for each of you,’ Celeste says. ‘They represent good fortune and happiness, don’t they, Jared?’
‘I don’t know about that, Mrs Battenberg, but I do know that it will blossom into the prettiest pink flowers in spring. The bees in your garden will love it.’
‘That’s really thoughtful, thank you, Jared, thank you, Celeste,’ I say.
It’s not what I was expecting, because let’s be honest, who buys five-year-olds a tree for a present? But it is also strangely very cool.
‘Can I eat the cherries?’ Sidney asks, looking a bit nonplussed.
